


this once, i would go before you

by RaisingCaiin



Series: RC's Back to Middle-earth Month 2020 [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dark, Gen, Musings on Death, Worldbuilding, a little worldbuilding; as a treat, random Peter Pan quote, the Avari have a very different understanding of death than the Noldor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23010817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/pseuds/RaisingCaiin
Summary: In the darkness beneath fallen Tol Sirion, Edrahil internally rages against the Noldor's stupid beliefs about death.For the B2MeM prompt 3/3/2020:He thought he had come to the end of his adventure, and a terrible end, but the thought hardened him. (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book I, Chapter 8)
Relationships: Edrahil & Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Edrahil/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto (implied)
Series: RC's Back to Middle-earth Month 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653583
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month 2020: Endings and Beginnings





	this once, i would go before you

**Author's Note:**

> For the B2MeM prompt 3/3/2020: _He thought he had come to the end of his adventure, and a terrible end, but the thought hardened him. (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book I, Chapter 8)_

In the years since he followed Findaráto to the riverside caves that would soon become the city of Nargothrond, Edrahil has heard some terribly strange and mystifying things from Findaráto's people. But easily the silliest come from the Noldor among them. Their elders, Findaráto himself included, tell tales of how the Further West is a land beyond death, and what is more, they believe – with a certainty that gives Edrahil the chills – that they will be reborn there should death take them here.

To the Noldor, death is not a cycle, where the body and the spirit return to the earth that made them in order to nourish those who will come after them. To the Noldor, death is seen – if indeed it comes for them at all – as something of a painful inconvenience that precedes a second chance to make up their transgressions with their gods. And all of this tends to lead to them saying stupid things such as, _To die would be an awfully big adventure!_

Which is stupidity, such utter _utter_ stupidity. This nonsense is yet another mark against the very notion of gods, to Edrahil's mind. And worse still, it leaves the Noldor so utterly unprepared when death truly does come for them.

For death is not poetic, not heroic, not redeeming in any way. There is no honor in it, no glory, particularly not in war – it simply is. Death is messy, and smelly, and ignominious, and there is no way of telling for certain whether one will have the strength to face it with equanimity in the end.

The worst part of it all is that – Edrahil has always known that he would die for Findaráto someday. It is the nature of his role and of Findaráto's position - he the guard, Findaráto the king of hidden Nargothrond. And, well, it is the inclination of Edrahil's own heart besides – never would he, could he, have stood aside if anything meant harm to Findaráto. And so, his own death, and in such a way, is something that Edrahil had made his peace with years ago, something that he has never regretted since.

But – and this was the rub – his own death should have meant that it was only Edrahil himself who fell. Findaráto was supposed to survive. It should not have ended like this, with Findaráto chained beside him and the certainty that no matter what Edrahil did, that Findaráto would die in the dank darkness of fallen Tol Sirion too.

For Findaráto's sake, Edrahil would have liked to believe in gods, and redemption, and a soft eternal morning in the Further West with the sunrise forever blotting out sight of the lands where they stood now. And Edrahil would have liked it especially well if his believing in such things could have meant that Findaráto might enjoy them, someday when Edrahil's body had been lain to rest at the roots of a tree so that whoever drew their new life from his flesh and his bones would be born with the smell of pine sap in their noses and the warmth of the sun on their skin or fur or bark.

But the ruins of Tol Sirion make it hard to believe in anything that is not before them or about them, here and now. It is hard to believe in the existence of anything that is not the rusted chains with which they are restrained against the rough stone walls, or the snarling creatures circling them that must have once been wolves, or the bodies of Findaráto's other faithful as they lie where they have been flung with limbs snapped and throats or bellies ripped from their right places.

The very air is thick and heavy with the stench of the carnage, the echoes of screams. And Edrahil snarls in the face of it all, from the once-wolf advancing upon him now to the Dark One's dread lieutenant supervising all with a dispassionate face, to those far-off gods who were meant to look after Findaráto if he and the Noldor truly were their beloved children, born to live forever and never die as the Avari must.

But the once-wolf only snarls back, and Morgoth's lieutenant only smiles, and no, Edrahil's death will not mean that Findaráto lives. Not this time.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [where i can't follow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099095) by [starlightwalking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking)




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